The werewolf reunited
by Susanna Anna Hannah Potter
Summary: A muggle gets the shock of his life in this increasingly dark and thrilling fic. It's got absolutely everything Action, romance, angst, humour and more.
1. Chapter 1

I started writing this a long time ago. A long long time ago. You can see how I improve as this story goes along. I only just finished it though.

**Disclaimer - **Of course, a 15 yr old girl who is randomly publishing her fanfiction online so owns Harry Potter. Are you lawyers on drugs? What do you think the point of fanfiction actually is? I'm going to sue you for your idioticness. But I own Harold, the bed, the horses, the buckets, the feed they spill on the floor, the mud, the plot um... and the hills, the curtains in the Shrieking Shack, the chickens, (I do actually own the chickens, exept one has fell of her perch since writing this. R.I.P Obadiah.) Anyways...

**Chapter One**

Harold was a normal muggle, slightly like you. He was an avid reader of the Harry Potter series, but did not; for one moment believe they were true. He was in his early twenties, normal height, normal build, normal hair and in fact he was normal to the point of boringness.

On the wild, wet, windy, moonlit winter's night that our story starts, he was feeding his two horses in a deserted cold, dark barn, in a desolate, rain drenched field, in the middle of nowhere, West Wales.

Over the hills came a loud and desperate howling. Harold dismissed it as a dog, although it seemed much louder than one, yet further away. It didn't sound, quite, normal. The sound of it prickled the hair on the back of his neck as he resisted the wind as he hurried to turn his horses back out into the field. They had, for reasons unknown to him at that time, become so unsettled that they just would not eat. They kept prancing around and knocking the feed buckets flying. It was very rare for any hose to act like this, and especially for the two that Harold owned. As Harold fumbled with the buckles on their head collars, they galloped away; their ears flat back against their heads and their hooves showering him with the deep, sludgy mud that they had kicked up in a terrified fury. Harold stared for a moment, until they were enveloped in the inky blackness that surrounded and destroyed his senses. Why were they so distressed? They were used to the weather conditions, and there was nothing more around, was there? He fumbled in his pocket for his car keys. The sooner he was out of this place the better. It was starting to creep him out.

Behind him came the ominous sound of heavy, ragged, breathing. Harold whipped around and stared. Blocking his path towards his jeep and his one source of safety was a huge, shaggy grey wolf. The creature lifted its head and howled and Harold wondered how the sound had ever been confused with that of a dog. The information that was rushing through his brain went into override. There were no wolves left in Wales. This was no ordinary wolf. This was no other than...  
The werewolf howled once more, then pounced. Harold was smothered in a tangle of teeth, hair, mud and smelly breath. He fought as well as he could but was no match for the ruthless aggression of the monster. His arm instinctively went to his face to protect it, but there was nothing remaining to protect his arm. The fangs pierced right through the many insulating layers that Harold had wrapped himself in. They imbedded themselves into the petrified cold flesh of the upper half of Harold's limb.  
The moonlight continued to stream down as it witnessed Harold's petrified form becoming rigid. He started to twitch. His nose elongated. His hair grew grey. His hands and feet tuned to paws with claws that were unnaturally long. He raised his shaggy head and joined in with united the howl of the other werewolf, then galloped with a long, lolloping speed, and felt his mind leave him as he followed the other werewolf away.

The next thing he knew was he was in an old shed along with a man who looked oddly familiar. His hair was haunted with grey streaks that Harold knew that he would soon get if half of what had happened that night was true.  
The man stirred himself.  
"Hello" he said. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Remus Lupin. And you are?"  
Harold stared on, completely flabbergasted.

And review. Now. before I hunt you down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer - **Look back at chapter one you lazy lawyers.

**Chapter Two**

Remus Lupin looked at Harold's bewildered face. Then a look of panic crossed his own.  
"I bit a muggle! Oh no. I'll have to... But that won't work. I suppose..." He trailed off and Harold took this opportunity to try and make a few things clear.  
"Remus Lupin - I thought you were a character in a book. But so were werewolves. So how...?  
"Well you've read the Harry Potter books at any rate. They were actually created by J.K. Rowling so that muggles would think that any magic they see is a publicity stunt. It has the added advantage that muggles know what they are up against if Voldemort bursts into their house. Doesn't help them much, but it's an advantage that Voldemort may have overlooked."  
"So they're real? Harry and Ron and everyone exist?"  
"Not exactly. The Burrow certainly exists. We are currently in one of their famous broom sheds. The Weasleys, well... Come with me and you will see for yourself."  
Harold followed Lupin out into the gradually lightening garden. He led the way to a rickety house, far more stories high than was advisable if it had been a normal dwelling. It certainly defied the laws of physics by staying up. A few chickens were scratching around and started to follow the pair.  
"They think we've got food. There are five of them. These two are Shadrak and Meshak; the others are Abed-nego, Obadiah and Jehoshiphat. The Weasleys are big on strange names for their chickens."  
They had arrived at the door. Lupin knocked and the door was answered almost at once. It was unquestionably Molly Weasley who answered it.  
"Remus! About time too. What kept you? And -?" She was looking inquisitively at Harold, who did not know quite what to do with himself. He plumped for staring at his feet, which seemed amazingly interesting at that moment.  
"Molly, we had better go in. We have very urgent matters to discuss."  
"Well, of course. Do you want some breakfast?"  
"It can wait. We will have to discuss this with the others."  
They entered the house. Harold forgot all about the amazing mud patch on his welly that looked like an upside down dolphin and looked around. The famous Weasley clock was on the wall but it seemed to have a few hands less than seven. The spell books had names such as The Mysterious Maladies of Muggles and A Practical Guide to Medicine for Muggles. The toaster shot out some toast. Molly Weasley pointed her wand at it and it buttered itself. It flopped onto a plate and slid down the long oak table towards Harold.  
"Eat up!" encouraged Molly. "We'll be in the next room."  
Harold needed no encouragement. He soon finished the first slice but he found that the plate refilled itself. He tried to ignore the mumbled voices that were going on in the next room but it wasn't easy. At times a voice pierced through the mutterings and found itself lodged into Harold's brain, giving him phrases like 'Hogwarts,' 'Defence against the Dark Arts,' 'Cursed,' and 'Year.' Finally the door opened and Lupin came in.  
"Well, we have finally agreed on what to do with you. You are going to Hogwarts to become an apprentice to the current Defence against the Dark Arts teacher for two terms so you can take over when the school year starts again in September."

Now review or I will hunt you down. With a pick axe and a bannana.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer - **Hey, I'm communist. We all own Harry Potter right? Look back at chapter one if you don't beleive me.

**Chapter 3**

"The Defence Against the Dark Arts? Isn't that cursed? And I'm a muggle, so how can I teach magic that I can't even do? And what are the differences between the books and reality anyways?"  
Lupin took a bite of some toast from the plate Molly had conjured up before replying.  
"You will only be an assistant to begin with. I suggest that you use the Kwikspell course at first - It's designed for squibs, but will work just as well for you. The Defence job is not cursed. That was added into the books to make things more interesting. As were Fred and George. Molly here was telling the truth when she said that all the family were prefects. You may have noticed their absence on the clock. A few other things were made up to make the stories more interesting and dramatic but the facts had to be fairly accurate or having the books published would defeat the object of the game."  
"No Fred or George! Insane!"  
"Well, yes. It is a shame. But the fact remains that we need to get you there sharpish. Arthur will take you. Floo Powder." Harold looked at the wizard on the left of Lupin. It was undoubtedly Arthur Weasley, but a little skinnier than he had been imagining.  
"That's another thing. Percy is not a traitor. He is living with us right now and he works in the muggle section of St Mungo's." Arthur Weasley seemed keen to make this clear before he led the way towards the fireplace. He offered the plant pot to Harold, who took a pinch of the shimmering purple powder. Arthur Weasley also took a bit and threw it into the dancing flames. They immediately took on a purple sheen. Arthur looked at them for a second, then stepped into the grate. Harold heard him state "Hogwarts" before he was swallowed up by the violet heatless fire. Harold took a deep breath and followed his lead. Floo powder was no where near as uncomfortable as he had been dreading. It just felt as if a giant vacuum cleaner was sucking him through the chimney.  
He tumbled out onto the rug and looked around him. Arthur Weasley was standing up talking to a tall witch who could only be the current headmistress, Professor McGonagall.  
"So, you're the one who has caused all the trouble? I will take you down to your room soon. I don't doubt that you are tired. "  
Harold was very willing to follow her. His consciousness was gradually ebbing away. It was due to this that he didn't take in much of his surroundings on his way to his room. Normally his eyes would have been on stalks - The portraits were moving and Harold caught site of a ghost whom he did not recognise. Soon, but not soon enough, Harold found himself in a small room. He did not notice much about it apart from the fire and the bed before he thanked the Professor and fell asleep without even removing his wellies.

Review or I throw you in a vat of Coca Cola. And if it disolves teeth like that, think what it'll do to your insides. Just some motivation, OK?


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer - **Hey, Lawyers, do you really want to sue me? My Daddys Lord Voldemort, Now do you want to sue me? Thought not. And if I'm Voldyshorts kid, why would I want to own Harry Potter anyway? So no,I don't.

**Chapter 4**

When Harold finally woke up, it took him a while to work out where he was. The last day was a blur, within reason as he had slept through most of it. He looked around him, registering the stone floor that was so different to his carpet. He then noticed a pile of paper on the mahogany chest of draws. He reached over and took it. After unfolding it he noticed that one bit was an envelope containing details of the Kwikspell course, and one was in a curly, ornate handwriting that he did not recognise. He decided to open this first. Upon the light, crackly paper there was a hurried biro message.  
_  
__To Harold, __  
__As you already know, you have been appointed as an assistant Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. It would be wise not to let others know your 'furry problem.' It can be controlled with the Wolfsbane potion. We are currently in the midst of the Christmas holidays but term will begin again in a week's time. I suggest you meet with the teachers and find your way around the castle during that week. Enclosed is a copy of the famous 'Marauders Map.' I hope you find it to your advantage._

_Professor McGonagall_

Harold had always thought that the magical community had written on parchment with quills and ink, but it had to be admitted that biro and normal paper was a lot easier. He had also thought that the people at Hogwarts slept in four-poster beds, but then, like muggle schools, they had a budget to stick to. Harold then took out the Kwikspell course and was soon fully engrossed in it. He found it so amazingly intriguing he barely noticed a knock on the door.  
It was no other than Professor Flitwick come to ask him if he was coming down to lunch. He had brought a large stack of toast that Harold readily accepted – He was starving. After assuring Flitwick that he would be down in time for lunch, Harold pulled himself away from the Kwikspell course, showered, changed and set off for lunch, aided by his Marauders Map.  
His way to lunch took a lot longer than was strictly necessary. He had no problem in the finding his way around side of things but he was very distracted. He stopped many times to observe, open mouthed the way the portraits moved and he even saw Sir Cadogan clanking around. The result of this was that he arrived nearly twenty minuets later than he had planned, but as the other teachers didn't seem to have been there a particularly long time he did not feel too bad. On the contrary, he was feeling elated at seeing the many teachers that he did not think had even existed. He could see Hagrid, as broad and as hairy as his imagination had allowed him, and Flitwick, who he had seen earlier, only 4 feet tall, but still with his personality radiating from his midget frame. He could see Slughorn, in his customary velvet purple jacket. But there was one character that alarmed him to be there.  
"Hello." The character said. "You must be Harold. I am the current Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

If you do not review, I will hunt you down and force you to listen to Britney Spears. You have been warned.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer - **See the first chapter lazy.

**Chapter 5**

Harold looked at the messed up black mop.  
He looked at the glasses.  
He looked at the thin, reddish, distinctive scar.  
He looked at the startling green eyes.  
"You're Harry Potter!" He exclaimed.  
"Erm, yes. I see you read the books. I am now the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."  
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. But this whole thing is just so strange."  
"I know it is. I mean, when I was ten I thought that magic was as much of a fairy tale as you did. Biggest and best shock of my life. But that's by the by. I think I'm going to take you to buy your things later on today. That will be interesting for you."  
"I am looking forward to it. I only have muggle money though."  
"We can change it at Gringott's. But first, let's eat."  
Harold sat down by Harry at the large table at the top of the Great Hall. It was decorated for Christmas so it looked amazingly spectacular. There were the legendary 12 Christmas trees with vast amounts of tinsel and baubles. There was magical snow falling softly from the ceiling but vanishing quickly before it hit anything. Huge green garlands of holly and ivy and some other kind of green plant that Harold was not sure about. But he had too much to ask Harry to worry about the weird plant.  
"So, was the stuff in the books about you true?" he asked, not really knowing what he wanted the answer to be.  
"Some. The book about my seventh year has yet to be published, though, so I can't tell you much about that. J.K. Rowling would kill me."  
"You mean you really delayed Voldemort from coming to power all those times?"  
"It was really exaggerated in the books. You would not believe what was added in. Hold on, you've read them, of course you do. Well, I'll tell you in a minute when we go to Diagon Alley. Eat up."  
Harold was in such a rush to go and see Diagon alley that he nearly chocked on his cheese and tomato quiche (He was a vegetarian). At last he had finished it and followed Harry to the fire place.  
"Diagon Alley!" he yelled, and was swallowed up with a mouthful of soot. After whizzing through a diabolical number of grates he was spewed out onto a worn rug. He straightened up and gasped.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer - **See the first chapter, Lazy.

**Chapter 6**

Harold looked around. There were so many shops selling so many amazing things that hadn't even been touched upon in the books. Everywhere he looked, there were wizards and witches milling around discussing the latest Manic Merlin concert that they were going to or their new dress robes that they were going to wear to some unpronounceable, unspellable state function. After he had observed the scene around him, Harry led him away to Gringott's.  
"Why is there a random fireplace in the middle of Diagon Alley?" he asked.  
"So that people who cannot apparate can still get to the centre of Diagon Alley without having to go to the Leaky Cauldron. Some people feel a little bit uneasy there. It's nowhere near as cozy as in the books. You're lucky if you get out of there with all your limbs. I lost a finger."  
He showed Harold a healed stump where his finger should have been.  
"How on earth did you manage that?" Harold asked.  
"Long story."  
They passed a hairdresser. Harold looked in, curious. There blonde haired individual who was giving a young which a perm matched a familiar description.  
"Oh my gosh! Is that Lockhart? I thought he was in St Mungo's!"  
"Erm, no. He didn't really lose his memory. He isn't good enough at memory charms to. He legged it when me and Ron went down to the Chamber and then started work as a hairdresser. Stupid git."  
Harold couldn't think of anything to say to that.  
They arrived at the huge white bank with tiny goblins at the door. They bowed low to the pair as they strode in through the entrance. The interior was exactly as Harold had imagined it. There were goblins weighing jewels on specially enchanted scales that spoke the weight to the as many decimal places as they could until you yelled at them to shut up. There was a lot of goblins yells filling the room. They joined a queue behind an old, stooping witch who had antlers poking out of her head. She was attempting to change about 6369 knuts into galleons, and it was taking a while to count them, so this left Harold and Harry with a long time to talk.  
"So, what actually happened in book number seven? And how long ago did it happen? Why are you teaching when you wanted to be an auror?"  
"It all happened last year. I can't give you the exact details - I have no idea what J. K. Rowling is going to change. There is Voldemort's downfall, though. But there are still the Death Eaters everywhere - and they are absolutely livid. That's why I'm still in Hogwarts. In case they try to do me in."  
"I see. But aren't we all in danger? Won't they try and gat a new leader?"  
"No one as terrible as him. No way. But we must still remain vigilant and watchful none the less."  
"As well you might, deary!" croaked the voice of the old woman in front of them, turning to stare at them with her ultra violet pupil.  
"Always watching! Always!" Her voice rose to a shriek and she was bundled out with a jingling of coins by the goblins. Harry and Harold stepped forward in the queue and hastily changed their money.  
"Who on earth was that? She sounded like a banshee!"  
"There is a reason for that. By the look of her she was a banshee crossed with a mentally ill reindeer. You get used to them when you have been in the wizarding world for a while believe me."  
The exited the building and walked purposefully in the opposite direction to the banshee crossed reindeer.  
"Right. What do we need to get you? Obviously a wand and some robes. Then maybe a few books on defensive magic. There isn't really much else. Unless you want a broom? I could teach you to fly if you want."  
"That would be incredible. I would love that, thanks."  
"Right, well, boring stuff first. Robes."  
They entered the shop. Harry greeted the young, pretty, redheaded witch at the counter.  
"Hey Gin, darling. Teachers robes for Harold here. Have you heard about him?"  
"Of course I have. Lupin told me. I saved a pair especially for him." She started rummaging around the back of the shop.  
"Here, see if these fit." She said kindly to Harold, who took them and went into the small cubical indicated to try them on. He was a bit confused as to how to put them on at first but he soon worked it out. They were a perfect size for him so he got out his money in order to pay for them.  
"Right," said Harry, "Books next." He pecked Ginny on the cheek and the left the shop in order to buy the books.  
They later left the book store with two large, leather bound books on the Defence Against the Dark Arts and set of for the broom store.  
"How come Ginny's working in the robes place? I thought she would still be in school."  
"She is. She just has a part time holiday job there. You know her parents can't afford to give her much."  
They entered High Flier, the broom shop. Harold thoroughly enjoyed looking at all the brooms and he took a while to decide which one to go for. He couldn't afford a Firebolt, but he went for a Sweeper 459 that Harry recommended. Harry picked up a copy of Which Broomstick, which he promised to lend to Harold when he had finished. They then had one more thing left to buy: a wand.  
They entered Ollivander's wand shop and were greeted by the very old, frail face that Harold had imagined so many times. Harry explained that he was, in fact, a muggle, but he was doing a Kwickspell course and had special circumstances and so needed a wand. Ollivander agreed that although he did not usually agree with selling wands to muggles he would this time.  
"Although," he said, "It may be hard to find a good match. The wand chooses the - er - man."  
He started to rifle through many boxes. and thrusting them in his direction. Harold tried waving them around but none did anything. This didn't seem to put Ollivander off.  
"Of course they won't do anything spectacular. But I still can't see ... hmm. Maybe this one. Strange wands go to the strangest of owners, don't they Mister Potter?"  
He pulled out a wand. Harold felt slightly alarmed.  
"Hazel, 10 5/6 inches, Dragon Heartstring. A bit on the stiff side."  
Harold took it. He waved it, rather foolishly, admitidly, but the wand ignored such feelings. Sparks cascaded out the end of it in as many hues as the rainbow and then some. As the illuminated the small, dingy shop they highlighted Ollivanders surprised face.  
"Curious, curious," said old Ollivander, shaking his head.  
"Sorry, but what is curious?" asked Harold.  
"That same dragon's heartstring was also used in another wand, only one. That wand's brother belongs to no other than Fenrir Greyback, who slaughtered more muggles than Voldemort himself."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer - **See the first chapter, Lazy.

Chapter 7

Harold didn't say much on the way back to the grate, which was a bit of a change from his talkative self when he was discussing each and every change that the magical world made as they progressed from reality to paper. Harry gave him the odd worried glance but did not probe him anymore than that. After all, he himself had been through it all before, when Ollivander told him that he shared a wands core with Voldemort.

When they reached the fireplace, Harry decided to say something.

"Look, don't beat yourself up over that Greyback thing. You know who my wand shares a core with and it didn't change anything except save my life once."

"Yes but that was different. You were connected by the curse that failed. I have never even come across Greyback before in my life."

"Coincidence. If not you, who would get that wand?"

"Someone like him maybe. I'm not. I would never kill a muggle."

"The wand chooses the wizard. You are not a wizard so maby that wand had a clouded judgement. Give it a chance. It could come in usefull."

Harold shrugged, took the floo powder and was sucked back to Hogwarts. Harry landed beside him on the rug.

"I think I'll go to bed now." Harold said. "I'm still knackered after that business with me being bitten and all."

"Go ahead." Replied Harry. "But listen, don't give your wands core another thought. Think about… Think about flying. I'll start to teach you tomorrow. I won't have much time when term starts again."

Harold nodded wearily and muttered goodbye. He then began the long walk to his room, thinking all the while. It had been a shock to him to discover that all of Hogwarts and the wizarding world was not as rosy as he had taken it to be. After Ollivanders words, he had been reminded of all the murderers and traitors that these walls had really held. He thought about the famed Voldemort. Had he really walked around where he was now? Had he eaten in the very room that Harold had? Harold was so engrossed in these thoughts that he hardly noticed when he walked straight into Proffesser McGonegall.

The packages he had been carrying took flight, and as one was a broomstick, it was quite literal. Proffecer McGonegal sighed, silently summoned his broom back for him and tuned on him.

"Do watch were you are going, won't you Harold?" She exclaimed. "I have been searching everywhere for you!" She held up a large dirty, patched hat that she had been carrying.

"In order for you to become a complete member of Hogwarts, you need to be sorted. Here."

Harold took the hat, and feeling very apprehensive, and nervous he tried it on. A little wheezy voice started speaking in his ear.

"Hmmmm, now I can see inside your head,

The very think that you do dread,

I can see that you would look good in,

The worthy house of Slytherin,

But I can see it worries you,

As even though your fairly new,

You've read about the history,

But if not there, where will you be?

So will you reside in Ravenclaw?

Or the valiant house of Gryffendor?

Well even though the decision is tough,

You belong in HUFFLEPUFF!" The hat yelled the last word out and, felling slightly idiotic, Harold emerged.

"Talk about history repeating itself." He muttered as he handed the hat back to Professor McGonegal.

"What was that?" She enquired.

"Nothing." He replied. "Nothing at all."


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer - **See the first chapter, Lazy.

Chapter 8

The next morning, Harold awoke at about half past nine. He had gone to bed early the previous night, and after awaking late too, he found that he had caught up on much of his lost sleep. After showering and dressing in his new teachers school robes he found a small parcel on his chair. After opening it, he found a Hufflepuff coloured tie and scarf. Looking at them, he sighed. Why did he have to be a Huffelpuff? He thought back to when he was manically trying to find out his house on every Harry Potter fan website that existed. He had always been a Griffendor then. The muggle world seemed so far away from him at that moment. There was so much magic tingling in the air that he could feel it. Then he noticed that his wand was prodding him in the back.

"Get orf!" He muttered at it, before he realised he was being stupid, the wand couldn't respond to his voice like that. However, the wand did a quick loop the loop and dived into the specially made pocket on his robes. Harold realised that the wand simply did not want to be left behind as he went down to a early lunch.

There were not many other teachers about. Only Professor Sprout, Professor Congeal and Professor Slughorn were there, eating at the staff table in the Great Hall. Professor McGonegal greeted him.

"Harry has expressed a wish for you to go to his study after your lunch. I believe he wants you to take your broomstick."

At hearing this, Harold started to shovel down his pasta salad even faster than his quiche yesterday. To fly... Now that was what everyone with the ability to enjoy themselves wanted to do. Harold could not wait for the moment he was airborne, even if he fell off again right away. He was so lost in his thoughts that he barely noticed when he turned into a large caterpillar. Fortunately, the other teachers did, and Slughorn turned him straight back.

"What was that about?" asked Harold.

"Oh, Namby, one of the house elves finds it very amusing to play little tricks on teachers and staff alike." Said Professor McGonegall with a disapproving sniff. "Caterpillars now, hedgehogs next week, I don't know why we put up with her. If it wasn't for her sister, she would be out of here like a shot."

"What's up with her sister?" Asked a curious Harold.

"Siamese twins. But her sister, Nellgrimp, is the sweetest, most helpful little elf you ever saw. We just couldn't throw her out."

Harold was amazed at this piece of news. Elves could be Siamese twins? Crazy. But the broomstick was calling him towards the quiditch pitch so he decided to answer its call and set off to meet Harry.

When he entered Harry's office, he was amazed to see what was undoubtedly Hermione and Ron sitting in there, drinking tea.

"Oh, hello Harold" said Harry. I would like to introduce you to my friends, Ron and Hermione." They both bobbed their heads at him.

"Do come and join us for a cup of tea, won't you?" asked Hermione. Harold noticed that she was rather prettier than the books had portrayed her, her hair was curly as opposed to frizzy and there was nothing wrong with her teeth at all.

Harold took no persuading to sit down next to her, and they spent a good 10 minuits discussing the sort of muggle things that one struggles to talk about in a magical community and Ron and Harry predictably discussed Quidich.

After a while, Harry looked at the clock and decided that it would be advisable to start the flying lesson sooner rather than later so they all headed out towards the quidich pitch.

"Well, flying is way harder than it always looks like to muggles. Although a good flier always does make it look easy." Began Harry. "That broom is very streamlined to make it more speedy but it is very slippery. It is very hard to stay on a broomstick. Every time you move to the side you practically fall off. It really develops your thigh muscles though. Have you ever ridden a horse?"

"I have two. I ride nearly every day. Or rather, I used to." Harry's face looked relieved to hear this.

"You should be O.K. than." He began helping Harold sit on the broom correctly, and stopping him from making any mistakes. Eventually he managed to take off from the floor and fly along for a bit until he fell off. It was defiantly a lot harder to fly than was described in the books. Harry seemed happier that Harold was at this small achievement.

"For a complete beginner, that is one huge achievement" he told him. "Believe me, I couldn't stay on the broom for two seconds when I first started. Much less fly in a straight line. It requires a lot of concentration."

"It definitely does." Grinned Harold. "It definitely does." He had loved every minute of it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer - **See the first chapter, Lazy.

**Chapter 9**

Harold could barely move the next morning. He had been bruised when he fell of his horses but this was something else. He stretched warily, not wanting to make anything else ache, which was hard as there was nothing else left to hurt. He groaned as he struggled out of bed. As soon as he was up, he found that he was unable to walk normally, he had to stagger around bearing an uncanny resemblance to a certain John Wayne. This earned him a round of applause from the staff at the table in the great hall when he went in for breakfast.

Smiling amicably he made his may slowly and staggeringly down to the staff table and sat down next to Slughorn.

"Harold, m'boy." Greeted Slughorn. "Its good to see you, have some pie! Or a pasty?" Harold helped himself to the proffered cheese and onion pasty and tucked in.

"I hear you were enjoying yourself on that broomstick of yours? Harry seemed very pleased with how you were doing. Not everyone who can fly on his first time on a broom y'know."

"Well, Harry is a good teacher. And I had a lot of practice of riding the horses." Said Harold humbly.

"And you did fall of enough times anyway." Mentioned Slughorn with a laugh. "Looking at the way you walked in anyway. I've seen the students when they first get on again after the summer. Hilarious. Now I remember…" Here he launched into a long and involved reminiscence of his younger days when they were still playing with rocks for bludgers, and the golden snidget was a bird instead of the golden snitch. Although Harold found most of his new life fascinating, he could hear lectures like that any day of the week with the muggles so he ate very slowly nodding and mumbling yes's and letting his thoughts wander. Unprompted, they wandered towards Hermione, which Harold felt was quite disconcerting as he was struggling enough to cope with the new life as it was, without adding further complications in the form of females. His thoughts were fortunately interrupted by Harry's arrival. He walked up and sat down next to Harold.

"How are the legs?" He asked with a malicious grin.

"I think you know the answer to that! I look like John Wayne!"

"Who?" Asked Harry with a blank expression. Then he remembered from his muggle days and started to laugh. "You'll get used too it. If you want to carry on, that is?"

"Of course I do! I've had worse bruises when… O.K. I haven't had worse bruises but still. I want to continue."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, I know what you mean, it was the same for me. Couldn't walk for months but flying was better."

They finished up their lunch and started out to walk round the Lake, or rather, in Harold case, a hobble.

"You really should start on that Kwick spell course." Advised Harry. "You will only be helping me to mark and whatever at first, but when you are more competent you can help me give demonstrations and stuff."

"Sounds awesome" emphasised Harold eagerly. Harry laughed again.

"You are easily pleased. Marking homework is the worst thing since doing it! I'm so glad I'm not a student anymore, I don't know how I survived."

"No, nor me. I mean, I went to Muggle School but it's the same sort of thing."

"Yeah, I guess." They continued around the lake.

"Isn't this where you did that patronus in your 3rd year?" Asked Harold.

Harry looked around.

"Erm, yeah. Around here. But I think it has a far greater function in the last book."

"Do tell!" said Harold eagerly.

"I have been forbidden to say anything. J.K. Rowling would kill me!"

"She won't know!"

"Oh yes she will, you remember that spell that Hermione put on the parchment containing the names of the DA? Something similar is going on."

"Oh. Can I guess?"

"No."

Harold said something that I probably shouldn't type here before they continued their path around the lake in silence.

"Is there any chance of another flying lesson soon?" Asked Harold.

"Well, I'm busy today, but you can have a go yourself if you want. You may as well make the most of not having to share the pitch with hoards of overexcited, over competent teenagers showing off. Soon as term starts, you'll be forced to practice in the dark."

Which was how Harold found himself attempting to climb on a broomstick later that day after lunch (tomato soup). He got on the broom once, sitting to far forward. Its frond end lurched backwards, dumping Harold on the ground in a pile of mud. Then he attempted to get on again, but over compensated by stabbing himself with the twigs at the rear end and fell off again. After a few more tries he finally steadied himself and attempted to kick off, hard. The result was that the broom shot up in the air with a sudden acceleration of 0-60 in about half a second. This left Harold clinging to the handle for dear life, while most of his body was dangling off. Unfortunately, he didn't know how to persuade his broom to go down again, and by this time he was about 100ft in the air.

"Oh dear." He said as he felt himself slipping, he couldn't hold on any longer, his broomstick gradually eased itself from his grasp as he fell, the long fall towards the ground till it reached him with a bone crunching thud.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer - **See the first chapter, Lazy.

**Chapter 10 **

Harold spent the next four or five days in what felt like a large cardboard box marked 'pain, exhaustion and downright agony with only occasional bursts off consciousness.' Unfortunately, every time he woke up he was being force-fed a potion that tasted disgustingly like mushy peas, vinegar and soap, which did not exactly encourage him to come round. When he woke up enough to actually take in some of his surroundings he noticed that there was a short plump which, sitting in a rocking chair, half asleep whilst knitting what looked like a neon green bungee jumping harness, and muttering something about how term had only started that day and there was already a bludger injury, a hippogriff wound and that was on top of 'that old git in the corner there who was trying to do crazy tricks to show off, and too bad that Miss Granger was there to stop him from getting killed.'

"Honestly, they should be paying me overtime, underpaid and understaffed, that's what this hospital wing is. People these days just don't care about proper hygiene. It's a small wonder that we don't all die soon of some unknown disease soon. It'll be the ministries fault if we do, that's for sure." She jumped suddenly as she noticed that Harold was awake, watching her, and could hear every word she was saying (supposedly) to her self. She then tried to make herself look busy, but, unfortunately for Harold, this involved going to get some more of the absolutely minging (I hope that word isn't to much of a local one) potion. She sighed as she tipped it down his protesting throat.

"Will you cut it out!" She exclaimed as he spluttered it all over the sheets. "Its not my fault that you went and fell of your broom trying to impress the women! Now get back to sleep!"

"What?" moaned Harold. "I didn't know anyone was there!"

"Well that was even more stupid of you! Why, in the name of Merlin's hippogriffs tank top, were you attempting to ride on your own? You are such a fool! If I wouldn't loose my job for doing it I would…"

Harold, quite sensibly, decided to go back to sleep. Unfortunately, sleep wouldn't come, so he decided to pretend unconsciousness to stop her shouting at him.

It didn't work.

"I can tell you're still awake! Don't you think, that after 60 years in my profession, I would be able to tell if someone is faking it?"

"Well." Retorted Harold. "Have you ever stopped to think about why people pretend to sleep?" The nurse remained silent. "Thought not." He said as he relaxed against the pillows of his bed, closed his eyes, and was carried off yet even deeper into the silent realms of his snoozing world.

The next time he awoke, he had much pleasanter company than before. He awoke to find that Harry had come to visit him, accompanied by Hermione and Ron.

"Am I glad to see you're awake!" Exclaimed Harry. "Flipping 'eck, what on earth were you doing out there? Hermione said that you fell at least 150 ft! Why aren't you dead?"

"Errrrm, Dunno. I can't exactly remember it. All I remember was kicking off a _little _bit hard, then, well, kinda, falling off?" Harold was feeling more that a little uncomfortable, and it wasn't only because of the 6 cracked ribs, a replaced hip, a skull that had been glued back together again, a broken neck and multiple breaks in each of his limbs. It was just as well he had come off with the magical community so close at hand!

"Yeah, that's more or less what Hermione told us." Said Ron. "She said that after you fell she did that 'decelarandum' spell, then you, like, slowed down so that why you didn't die, then she called for help using her patronus, then you came here and until now, you just, like, slept."

Harold was grateful for Ron's rough explanation for the events, as he had no idea abut what had been going on. In fact, he still didn't.

"What's been happening then? Apparently the Easter term has just began, that's what that grumpy old which who was in here before said."

"Yes." Answered Hermione. "Which, I hear was excitement enough for little Harry here."

"Oh shut up about that will you!" Retorted Harry, going red in the face.

"What happened then?" Asked Harold eagerly.

"Nothing! Nothing! Don't worry, you know Hermione, always full of hot air…"

"Well, you know how childish these little 1st years can get sometimes, don't you?"

"Hermione! I forbid you to tell him! I'll hex you I swear!"

"Well." She continued, as she straightened her robes. "One decided to visit his room when he was pigging out in the Great Hall."

"Hermione! You continue and I really will transfigure you into a yak!"

"And then, he looked into Harry here's underwear drawer."

"Hermione! I warn you my wand is coming out!"

"Yeah, I can tell, your flies undone." Sniggered Ron. Harry blushed still harder. (A/N- Sorry, dirty mind!)

"Then, they took out a pair of boxers, made sure they were easily recognisable as his, because they were decorated with his _beaming_ face, accompanied by his motto, 'Who needs a broomstick when you can ride the seeker', proceeded to hang them on the schools flagpole whilst the rest of the school gathered round, singing the school song!" finished Hermione quickly, before running for it, closely followed by Harry, who tried to turn her into a penguin. Unfortunately for him, the spell missed, hit a wall, bounced off, and hit a very irate nurse who looked all the better for having flippers and feathers. This was, however, good for Harold, as laughter has always been the best form of medicine, even in the magical world, and the result was that the next week, Harold was free to leave the hospital wing.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer - **Look at chapter one, lazy.

Chapter 11

Despite having been deemed well enough to leave the hospital wing, Harold was still fragile and decided that he would leave flying until Harry had time to help him, and this was very rare because term had really began, and he was as busy as ever. Basically, Harold's job as an assistant teacher seemed to be was marking endless heaps of parchment, with the help of one of the books he had bought in Diagon Alley. This was quite mind numbing, but essential and it freed up some of Harry's time so he could help him in the Kwickspell course. Harold was making astonishing progress on it, and he could now do simple charms. Harry said that the reason he was so successful was because the bite came from a wizard, so he had some wizarding blood in him.

Unfortunately, his mind had not forgotten the forthcoming new moon. There was only a few days left, and he was starting to feel a bit peaky. He grew more and more tired as time went on, prompting him to take his wolfsbane potion.

"Urggg!" He spluttered as he took his first mouthful. "Its worse than what that nurse woman gave me! Who invented this muck? I demand a lawsuit!" The house – elves that had given him the potion dried their long crooked noses. Actually, as he realised with a jump, they were the Siamese twins that McGonagall had told him about. They were dressed in matching tea towels that were sewn together to create a large one bearing the Hogwarts crest and were identical to the very last wart. It appeared that they were joined at the leg though, as the pair seemed to have three legs.

"Namby is sorry sir is not liking his drink. Namby did try to sweeten it up. You need it!" She gave a high pitch attempt of a snigger and the two of them disapparated with a crack that made Harold jump, before returning to his potion.

The day of the next full moon dawned brightly. It was a Saturday, so Harold decided to ignore the feelings in his stomach and go for a short walk around the grounds. Harry had gone on a trip to Hogsmeade and left earlier, but much to Harold's delight, Hermione had come to the school on business for the order, and had agreed to accompany him on a trip round the lake. Harold hadn't actually had a proper chance to thank her for saving his life, and this seemed as good a chance as any. He did, however, find that getting the words out was rather harder than imagined.

"You know, Hermione, what you, well, I just, um, when you, kinda, saved my life back there, I haven't really, said, well, thanks." He paused to actually think about what he was going to say instead of burbling like he just had.

"If it wasn't for you, I would have died. So, thanks for saving my life." Harold finished, chancing half a glance at Hermione, who was blushing like a sunburnt radish. Maybe it was just as uncomfortable for her as it was for him.

"Well." She said slowly, as if she was picking her words very carefully, like the wrong one would conjure up wild demons to pick her up and hang, draw, torture, slaughter and quarter her.

"How could I not? When I saw you falling, I kind of, reacted. It didn't involve thinking. You know you were doing really well out there, until you, well, fell." Harold felt a sudden pang in his stomach that had nothing to do with the oncoming full moon. She looked so beautiful, with her hair blowing in the slight breeze. They had stopped walking now, and were just standing there, by the lake. He smiled nervously.

"I fell for you in the most literal sense." He was surprised at his own bravery; normally he could never admit his feelings for anyone other than his horses. Although it was a very cheesy chat up line, it seemed to have worked. Hermione smiled back at him, a warm smile that turned Harold's exterior into a melted gloop of a microwaved marshmallow. He leaned forwards, towards her radiant mouth. Hermione did not move back. Harold was punching the air inside himself with triumph. Finally, finally something had gone right. He would get bitten a thousand times if he could just…

"Stupefy!" Yelled a deep, gravely voice. And Harold knew no more.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer - **Look at chapter one, lazy.

**Chapter 12**

Harold woke up on the creaking floorboards of a random shed. The curtains that covered the windows looked more like ragged drapes. Through them Harold could see the last wisps of the sunlight that were spreading across the horizon. He groaned and rolled over to see Hermione looking at him anxiously.

"Hermione! W-" He started but Hermione put her finger to her lips as a warning to him to shut up. She was listening at the door of the small room. Harold crawled over to the door to join her and they heard the gravely syllables of the voice that had cursed them.

"Is the moon up yet?" Enquired the voice. They heard the creaking of a chair as someone went to investigate.

"Its Fenrir Greyback!" Mouthed Hermione. "I recognise it from last year. I think we are in the Shrieking shack, listen!" She tailed of as the voices started again. It was a different voice though this time, it was more higher pitched and sounded quite petrified. But Harold reasoned, if he were stuck in a room with a werewolf like Greyback, he would be too. As Hermione informed him in a whisper though, it was Peter Pettigrew.

"Not yet master. I'd give it about twenty minutes, minimum."

"Well make yourself useful then, go and check on that muggle and his friend."

Harold and Hermione flung themselves across the room and lay down still, pretending that they were still stunned. They heard the door creek ominously as it opened, and someone entered the room. Harold lay as still as he possibly could, his eyes closed and his heart thumping like he had just ran a marathon. He heard the footsteps walk towards him. He breathed deeply, assuming that stunned victims looked like sleeping people and wondering if he should snore. Unfortunately, his nose was lying in a section of the three-inch covering of dust that had lain undisturbed for what was probably about twenty-five years. As he inhaled deeply, the dust particles scurried up his nose like ants to their holes, only twice as tickly. He could feel that familiar sensation in the top of his nose. He tried to fight it off but it wasn't working. The pain grew more and more and more until…

"Achoooo!" The great expulsion of the insides of his nose flew out at the sort of speeds Harolds Sweeper 459 could not compete with.

"Well, well, well." Came the dreaded voice from beside Harold's ear. "I think someone was pretending to be stunned there. Get up. We are going to see Fenrir Greyback."

Harold got up gingerly, taking as much time as possible. It was not Peters plan though, to spend two hours watching Harold get up, and he prodded him with his wand. An electric shock flew through him, making his hair stand on end, vertically from his head. He moved slightly faster then.

"And the girl – whatsherface – Hermione. Get up you frizzy headed lump."

Harold felt a surge of anger, and a great urge to just walk up to that mousy-headed traitor–boy and simply punch him till he had millimetre left of his life. Unfortunately Peter Pettigrew had the wand, and Harold didn't have enough magic to do anything threatening with it anyway. They were in a pretty sticky situation however they looked at it. Hermione rose as well, knowing that any pretence of being stunned was pointless. Pettigrew followed behind them, his wand pointed at Hermione's back in a very threatening way. They entered the next room, with Pettigrew on their tail. In a paisley print armchair with a threadbare covering a tall but skinny man was sitting. His face looked as though he hadn't shaved for a month, although admittedly, he probably hadn't. He was tapping the arm of his chair with his long, claw like hands. Then his mouth creaked open and the now familiar rusty voice was issued from it.

"Oh well look who it is. Harry's new little sidekick who has been playing at magic wands for the last month. And Hermione, we meet again. I bet your surprised to be here. " He paused, as if for an answer, but the pair couldn't think of one for the life of them. Therefore, Greyback pressed on.

"I'm not too sure how much you know about our little plan yet. I know you must have been listening at the door. I would be disappointed if you did not show any resistance. "So, my pretty one." He directed at Hermione. "Tell me. Will you disappoint?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer - **Look at chapter one, lazy.

**Chapter 13**

"I'd do anything and everything to make a villain such as yourself disappointed!" Hermione ranted. "You think your such a big boy now, taking over the gang now Voldemort's gone, but you've never done better then any of the others. You're a vile, disgusting, fiendish-" But she didn't get a chance to finish the sentence because an accurate and well-placed spell had caused her to crumple as easily as a bowling pin in a strike to the ground.  
"What have you done to her?" yelled Harold frantically, dropping to his knees and flipping Hermione's limp form onto her back. "If you've killed her, I'm warning you now, your entrails will stretch from here to Timbuktu and back again, I will microwave your eyeballs and…"  
"Oh shut up. She's not quite dead. Not yet anyway, more is my unrest. In theory you can still save her, but in practice…" He bared his teeth and smiled a smug, self-congratulatory smile that sickened his singular audience to the deepest confines of his stomach.  
Talking of his stomach, the approaching full moon was having a less than savoury effect on him. He could feel the moons deadly rays before they were even in the sight range of anyone present. His guts were entwining themselves, gargling, threatening to break out of the mere skin that held them there. Then the effect started to reach out to other parts of his body; his lungs were cringing and forcing his every breath into spasms of pants and splutters. Harold bent over double; unable to pretend that it wasn't happening, unable to imagine that the last month was nothing more than just a dream. His hearts pumping was fast and irregular, it felt as it was going into labour with its unpredictable surges of pain. Every last aspect of him, from his toenails to his split hair ends felt tingly and on fire. And over this spectacle, Fenrir Greyback watched smugly from his place on the armchair.

"It's not particularly pleasant the first time is it?" He rhetorically asked. "Too bad your brains not in enough order to save the girl, or yourself."  
"What – happened - to – potion" panted Harold in labouring breaths, every word costing him vital energy and will to live.  
"Oh, you haven't figured it out yet have you?" He replied conceitedly. "That houself, the Siamese one, I offered her the exclusive chance to come and work with me in return for slipping a little sugar into your Wolvesbane potion. It's useless. Soon, you will become a fully-fledged werewolf and your transformed body will go and tear all those disgusting brats throats out, thus helping me."  
"Why – not – you?" Harold asked, clinging on to the vain hope that he could stop this transformation from happening, and therefore prevent the terrible plight that was about to be bestowed upon the castle.  
"My dear muggle." He replied sarcastically. "As if there was not protection spells on every stone in that courtyard, every lump of rubble in that wall, every teacup in that kitchen that are limiting my ability to roam as freely as I would like."  
At that moment the moon finally forced her fluorescent glow through the drapes and directed it in earnest at both the two werewolves and Harold's battle for his sanity, awareness and consciousness met a dead end.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer - **Look at chapter one, lazy.

Oh and since the unfortunate incident with Harold in the last chapter (And there is worse to come, believe me) this story is from Harrys point of view from now on. Appologies for any inconvievience. Please take a complementary embroidered napkin on your way out. Thank you!

**Chapter 14**

Harry heard a howling raging outside his window. He rushed up to the wide gap in the wall and flung the curtains apart in urgency. That sound could be nothing other than a werewolf, and there was only one werewolf who had the evil necessary to enter Hogwarts, and to rip out the young throats of those who dwelt there.

"Fenrir Greyback." He breathed. "We meet again." But how had he got in? How did he succeed in defeating the many defensive spells that enshrouded the building? He had no time to worry about it now. The last time it had happened it had resulted in death, and this time…

He stuffed his wand in his pocket and mounted him broom. He took of through the window and pelted towards the moving, yelping, scavenging shape. As he feared, it was a werewolf. A great ugly brute the size of a small elephant. But this was no small sweet herbivore that wallowed in African rivers. This monster was all teeth and hair and viciousness. Wands would be useless against such strength. Unless…

He raised his wand high and pointed it in the vague direction of Dumbledore's old office.

"ACCIO SWORD!" he yelled. There was a moment, maybe two, before the werewolf would see him and pounce. He squinted, panicking, was it working?

"Please let it work. Please. Anything." The werewolf saw him finally, and bounded over, snarling and lunging and snorting with inhuman force. Harry braced himself, he could not let himself go too. He would not let himself join the reams of cursed, bitten men with haunted lives. He stood strong, armed with only a broomstick and a useless wand that had failed him. His broomstick? He could fly!

He leapt onto his Firebolt, and not a second too soon. As he swooped up into the sky, the giant rabid dog bounded upwards in a desperate attempt to savage his legs. Harry stayed high enough to be out of reach and dived out his wand once more.

"ACCIO SWORD!" He repeated, and this time, there was action. The glint of the many-jewelled sword twinkled as it lurched toward him. He snatched it out of the air, like a Bulgarian Seeker would with a snitch and prepared for battle.

He dived as low as he dared with his sword aimed at the ever moving tangle of teeth that was this creatures head. The metal met with something, and created a nick, but all it did was aggravate the beast. The blood spilled out from the wound, creating mess and disrupting vision, likened to a scarlet river that had broken its dam. The werewolf lunged at him again. Harry flung his sword around in unorganised chaos. The sword struck home.

It plunged deep into the werewolf's breast, like a meat cleaver with bacon. The wolf collapsed, howling and moaning and whining. Crimson flowers erupted in its dark, tangled, shaggy coat. Then, the reverse transformation began.

"Yes!" Exclaimed Harry. He had done it! He had saved Hogwarts from this pitiful, dying beast. It was turning back into a human, he was right, it had been…

"No!" He moaned as he recognised the bleeding figure that was lying on the grass before him. It was Harold. He had killed Harold. His teaching assistant, his companion, his friend.

The scalding tears erupted from behind his grief stricken eyelids. His mouth crumpled in woe. The sobs burst out of him in anguish affected lunges as a huge empty pit inside his stomach surfaced. He had killed Harold. His friend. The one who he was looking after, protecting from the Death Eaters.

Harold was struggling to speak, using his precious last breaths, battling the pain that threatened to overthrow his consciousness.

"Her – Mi – Oh – Ne." he breathed, labouring over his last.

"Hermione? Where Harold, Where?" Harry begged. "Tell me, Harold. I don't deserve anything from you, but tell me where she is. Is she in danger?"

Harold's chalk white face concerted in the effort of his last word, and when it came, it was so faint Harry almost missed it.

"Shack." He sighed, then closed his eyes in humble resignation, and died.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer - **Look at chapter one, lazy.

**Chapter 15**

Harry hesitated for a moment; not wanting to leave his friends empty body, wanting to somehow bring him to life again, even though he knew it would be hopeless. He knew that from his past experience – none of his friends or family had ever come back except in mirrors or patronus's or wands. He stayed there for a moment, still weeping like a baby as he kneeled down next to his fallen friend, before pulling himself together. He could mourn later, Hermione could be dead already.

The still scarlet sword glistened in the moonlight as he ran in the direction of the Whomping Willow. Dodging the flailing limbs of the vicious tree he threw a rock at the knothole that stopped the branches. The tree paused, mid swing, its silhouette attacking the sky as Harry leapt down the hidden passageway and sprinted towards the small hut at the end of the tunnel. The light gleamed ahead of him, tempting him into thinking the end was just metres ahead, when it was really more like a mile. He had to get there; he had to save at least one life in this cruel day that was lasting forever. His breathing was heavy and forced, the stitch in his side attempting to cut him in two, the build up of lactic acid in his legs destroying his gait, the rocky bed of the short path demanding his stumble. He felt blind, with rage and emotion and grief that were killing him inside.

Eventually he found himself stumbling through the door into the shack. He saw Hermione lying on the floor in the middle, still and restful, completely oblivious to the rest of the commotion. But there was no time to head towards her. There was no time to take anything in, before a second great wolf launched itself towards him.

Unlike Harold's maddened state, this creature was obviously in full control of his actions. Its matted grey hair framed its yellow heartless eyes as it bared its teeth and growled at Harry. Harry hesitated for a moment, was it another trick? Would he simply be another innocent who was forced into doing another's bidding? But then the werewolf launched itself at him, and Harry gave up on reason. He brandished his sword like an idiot. One swipe at it, then another. Blood blossomed. The werewolf was badly cut, but not noticing his pain. It dodged and leapt about, always showing its teeth and never its back. Harry kept fighting. He would get so close to the beast, then with a backward bound it was gone. It was nothing like fighting Harold, this creature had its sense thanks to wolvesbane potion. This fighting was simply wearing him out at a time when energy was at its most urgent. Eventually, Harry's mind realised the only way to defeat this creature.

It was risky. It could be deadly. But unless the beast made a lethal mistake extremely soon there was no other option. Harry drew back his arm and threw the sword, his only defence right at the werewolf.

The sword hit its mark. It sank into the struggling flesh with a beautiful effect as the blood was spewed out of the beast's ribcage. It rained down upon Harry as he stood there, sword less and triumphant as he stepped forwards, over the wriggling transforming body towards Hermione's limp form.

Suddenly, out of the shadows, Peter Pettigrew stepped out, raised his wand and calmly said his last words.

"Avada Kadavada"

And a shooting jet of green light burst out of the wand and hit Harry squarely in the chest.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer - **Look at chapter one, lazy.

**Chapter 16 - Last ever chapter!**

The shack radiated green light that illuminated its deepest and gloomiest corners. Shielding his eyes, Harry squinted through the glare of green, his forehead tingling. The force of the explosion swept through the shack, hitting Wormtail and flinging him to the ground, like a puppet. He was lying, lifeless on the floor, in a limp, unconscious, dead stupor. Meanwhile, on his left, Hermione was lifting her head.

"What the –" She exclaimed, looking round in confusion. "What's happening? Where's Harold? What are you doing here, Harry?"

"Long story." Said Harry as he got up, brushing the dirt from his trousers as the light faded to nothing.

"Is that Greyback?" She asked, mystified. "You've just killed Fenrir Greyback? Oh my gosh, Harry! And Peter Pettigrew?" She flung herself across the room and suffocated Harry in a rib-cracking hug.

"Erm…yeah." Gasped Harry, with whatever breath he could still find. Hermione realised it, and let him go.

"Although I didn't really kill Pettigrew, as such." He continued, breathing easier now he had control of his lungs again. "He killed himself. When I saved his life in this very shack 5 years ago, it placed a spell over us, he was in debt to me. So when he tried to kill me, it backfired, and it looks like the magical force of it woke you up."

"That would explain something." Hermione said, looking at his forehead.

"What?"

"Your scars gone."

"Oh!" Harry rubbed his forehead. Instead of a smooth lightning-bolt shaped dent, there was the same skin texture all over. His scar was indeed gone. That would explain the tingling in the explosion of magic. It was a shame, he thought, he had liked his scar, it hadn't hurt since Voldemort's downfall although now he wouldn't be harassed in the streets so much, a small bonus.

"But what about Harold, Harry? When I was cursed he was just about to transform, so what happened? Did he transform? Harry, why are you looking at me like that?"

She held Harry at arms length, looking into his eyes. Harry avoided her gaze, which could only mean bad news.

"He's gone, isn't he Harry? He's dead. Harold's dead." The look on Harry's face told her enough to confirm her fears. A sob burst out of her as she clung to Harry's robes.

"Why? Who did it?" she wailed, the tears drowning her vision, her stomach turning to lead. She looked at Harry's face again, and she knew.

**The funeral**

The layout was exactly the same as when Dumbledore had had his funeral in this very spot, although there were a lot less guests. However, the whole school had congregated outside to say goodbye for the last time. There were all the students who had been in his defence against the dark arts class. There were the teachers, who had laughed at his attempts to fly. There was the bossy nurse, who had liked Harold really, her mean attitude was nothing personal, she treated everyone the same. There was Ron who had laughed and teased him in the hospital wing, turning each other into yaks and penguins. There was Namby and Nellgrimp, the Siamese house-elves who had turned Harold into a giant caterpillar, and eventually helped with his downfall. There was Professor Lupin, who had bitten him in the first place and started the whole drama off. There was Hermione, contemplating what might have been, that day beside the lake, and what was now impossible. Next to her, was Harry, who had inadvertently done the deed, caused this funeral and now had to pay for it with his guilt. As the white tomb exploded in a bright and colourful yet solemn display, and as the last memories were read out, and as Harry sat there, listening to Hermione's heartfelt and silent sobs, he vowed never, ever to stop looking until the evil in the world was completely eradicated. Voldemort was just the start.

There are many evils in this world that go unnoticed. They range from petty name-calling, from simple childish bullying behind charming exteriors to full-scale genocides and mass murders, terrorism, but the distruction they cause to peoples lives remains constant. Remember what Tom Riddle was like. Remember what he was transformed into. Remember those who give their lives to stop and prevent such horrors from continuing. Remember those who give personal losses, who's guilt will follow them like a shadow because of their attempts to help, while others smugly sit and think that all is right with the world. Remember those who are the victims of these terrible plots, and those who are balancing people's futures on their shoulders.

Remember Harold.

Now review or fear my wrath, my Daddy Lord Voldemorts wrath, my bananna and my pink and yellow spotted schnozelbongerins. You have been warned.


End file.
